"You're killing me,"
I mumbled. And he pressed
my hips as far into his as our
fall plaids and jeans would allow
as we settled into the corner
of the dining room and the
mooning sun shadowed
through the plantation shutters.
Our breaths fell dark against the
gold tan of the wall. He held my hat
behind his back with one hand,
and the small of my back with his
other as drunkenness lulled
concern into his eyes.
"What did I do?" he said
as the halo of the tiring sun
darkened his puppy brown eyes.
His breath smelled like cinnamon
and his eyes were as full as the rising moon.